Based on Netherlands 1975
Teach-In — Ding-a-Dong
In the village, one night, I woke up with a fright.
Men burst in my room and said, “You! Come along!”
Out of fear I swallowed at what was to follow:
now I would be offered to Mao Zedong!
Before long I would cower as I was deflowered
by the chairman’s infamous microdong.
“Well, go on!” said my parents. “That is no deterrent!
There’s no greater honour than Mao’s wee schlong!
So run along!”
Sent off feeling contrite, at the chime of midnight,
I was carted off with a big, teeming throng
of young girls just like me, peasant girls who can’t read,
to prostrate ourselves before Mao Zedong.
All day long we were pampered, readied to be tampered.
When the moment came I felt woebegone.
What a pong! Thought I’d be sick. His breath smelled like pigshit
and his wiener looked like a champignon
three inches long.
(Here he comes! Just play along!)
“Won’t you kiss me all over?” says Chairman Mao.
Bright green teeth only add to the horror –
when he smiles, tears spring to my eyes.
(Hold on, be strong!)
“Mao Zedong, oh great teacher, I beg you:
Teach me to be worthy of love!”
Has his fill, then alights. When he casts me aside,
I picture my parents and think: ‘You were wrong.’
I feel cheap and bloodied, wounded, shamed and sullied,
angry what he’s done with that dick and tongue.
Mao Zedong never showers. His stench overpowers.
Never even sponges his tiny schlong.
Wipes his dong on bed linen, ‘cleanses’ it in women:
“Me? I wash myself in their virgin bods!”
When Zedong is inside ya, lie back, think of China,
since you know he won’t last for all that long.
Concubines are respected, even when rejected.
Daughters, unlike sons, have to settle for
what comes along.